


Zhavvorsa Khalakka

by Thranduil_is_a_bitchking



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Viserys just needs a hug, i guess, like badly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:12:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3838411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thranduil_is_a_bitchking/pseuds/Thranduil_is_a_bitchking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Daenerys was supposed to help get him an army, not a nephew. Khal Drogo was supposed to love her, not him. But then, he was a dragon too wasn’t he?</p><p>How would things have changed if Drogo was willing to do anything not for his Khaleesi, but for the Dragon Prince?</p><p>[ON HIATUS DUE TO INSPIRATION FAILURE (01/07/16)]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello once again! So, I have delved deep into my sky in demand, and I am now hooked on Game of Thrones! Woohoo! So, here is my attempt at a fic... Maybe I should've chosen a more canon pairing, but as this is my first fic, and I'm super new to the show, I'm going au so any mistakes don't look as incriminating! xD
> 
> I don't know why, but I really love this pairing, which is bizarre, because they hate eachother...
> 
> My Dothraki is nonexistent, so anything in Dothraki will be written in between these: «.......» to avoid confusion on your part and incorrect grammar/word usage on mine.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, Viserys thought as two savages held him on the ground, his broken arm wrenched behind his back. Okay, so brandishing a sword to his pregnant sister wasn’t his finest hour, but then agian…

He watched with growing horror as more and more gold was added to the pot, his sister’s blank, cold stare chilling him to the core.

*Fire cannot kill a dragon, fire cannot kill a dragon, fire cannot kill a-*

His mantra was interrupted by the shouts of the crowd. He was going to die. Who was he kidding, he wasn’t a dragon, he never was. He was the failure, the one who was foolish enough to believe that he could avenge his family. Death was coming to him from an early age, the gods knew he deserved it.

It didn't matter, they could kill him, because if he didn’t have his sister, then what did he have? Nothing. All his life he’d fought to protect her, starved so she didn’t have to, went thirsty so she didn’t have to, offered himself as payment so they couldn’t take her, couldn’t touch her, couldn’t claim her. He’d sold their clothes, their family’s heirlooms, hell, he’d even sold *himself* so that they’d had a roof over their heads and whatever meagre meal they could scrape up, and now she sat there and looked at him as if he was a stranger.

He did not scream nor struggle as the molten liquid was poured over his head. His frantic breathing and heartbeat calmed. Wait, breathing? He took stock of everything. He couldn't feel the burning, it was as if someone had poured a bowl of lukewarm water over his head, but it was definitely gold and it definitely should’ve burned him, killed him even. Horribly and painfully. He looked up at his sister, though he did not move his head. Drogo had awe written plainly across his features, and his people seemed confused as to what to do next. Daenerys blinked slowly, seemingly disappointed. There was no doubt in Viserys’ mind that she would have watched him die and have felt nothing. He stood slowly, shaking the gold out of his hair, brushing it off of his face with his hands and wiping it out of his eyes. He was beyond angry, he was livid, but instead of lashing out or screaming, he nodded once to the Khal and left, the flaps of the tent whipping in the wind.

»"He is a dragon after all.”« Drogo said, standing. He dismissed his people, and they filtered out, speaking in hushed tones. Paying no heed to his wife, he left the tent and went to where he knew Viserys would be. It seemed, however, that Ser Mormont was already there. He stopped outside the tent, and couldn't help but overhear the others' conversation. His grasp on the common tongue was practically nonexistent, but he could understand well enough from their tone of voice what was going on.

"She just thinks that you haven't ever done anything for her." Ser Mormont was saying. Drogo didn't have to be anywhere near them to feel the tension that suddenly formed.

"Get out." Viserys ordered, his voice a low growl. 

"Viserys, your grace-"

"Get out!" The prince screamed, loud enough for the whole realm to hear. There was a poignant silence between them, the air thick with something Drogo couldn't place. 

"There're no weapons in here, so don't even think about doing something stupid." Ser Mormont said as he left, not even seeing the Khal. When Drogo looked through the flap, he saw something he never expected to see. There, on his knees, with one hand in the fire and the other drawing a small dagger from his belt was the Zhavorsa Khalakka, the Dragon Prince. Before he could think, before he could even breathe, Drogo was inside, pulling the blade from the silver haired prince before it could do any more damage. The tip of the dagger sliced across Viserys' wrist, the blade going deeper before Drogo's hand managed to pull it away.

»"There will be no blood spilled here."« The Khal said, his voice strangely soft. It surprised him, the violent jolt of pain that went through his chest when he saw Viserys on the floor. He didn't know what he was feeling, but he knew that he welcomed it. This, this pull he'd felt from almost the beginning was so much more than what he felt for his Khaleesi. It confused him. Maybe...maybe it was Viserys he should've asked for, not his sister. And if the rumours were true, males of Targaryen blood could bare a child. The prince was indeed a dragon.

»"What are you doing?"« Viserys asked quietly, reaching for the small dagger, his eyes distant and lifeless. »"Just give me the dagger, you wanted to kill me earlier, so I'll spare you all the trouble and do it myself."« 

Drogo blinked. When did the prince learn to speak Dothraki? Then Viserys' words sunk in. He wanted to kill himself? No. That was wrong. Seeing Viserys' blood against his pale skin looked wrong. That's not where it should have been. It should've been in his veins, not dripping slowly onto the floor. He felt guilt about what had transpired not two hours previous. He was immensely glad that Viserys had Targaryen blood flowing through his veins, because he wasn't sure he could live with himself if he'd killed him anymore.

"No." He said, the only word he knew in the common tongue feeling foreign on his lips. "No."

"No?" Viserys asked incredulously, his lilac eyes meeting the Khal's for the first time.

"No." Drogo repeated, laying the dagger on the floor. He ripped a piece of cloth from his robes and tied it around the deep cut in Viserys' wrist to stop the bleeding. "No." He said, his voice barely above a whisper. Something stirred within him then, something that pulled him towards the broken prince, something that compelled him to fix him. Still looking Viserys in the eyes, he closed the gap between them, reaching a hand up to cup the prince's cheek. He'd never done this with his Khaleesi, never felt like this with her. He'd never felt the urge to just sit and kiss her, it never felt right. But now, here with her brother, he felt everything and nothing. It was perfect, the prince's body seeming to fit against his as if he were made to be there. It all sounded terribly romantic, even to his own mind, and he was completely shocked by it all. It was ridiculous, how his opinion of a man, his feelings for a man, could change in a matter of hours, but then, he guessed, that they hadn't really changed at all. He'd hated the prince because it was easier. It was easier to focus on his flaws and overlook Viserys, to not see past the mask he wore all day everyday. Now, he'd simply seen past that mask and he saw a broken young man who was desperate to live up to his name, desperate to do what he had been told to do his entire life. Protect his sister, retake the Iron Throne and avenge his family. 

»"What are you doing?"« Viserys repeated as the Khal pulled away, looking confused.

»"Zhavvorsa Khalakka."« Drogo said softly, brushing a stay piece of hair out of Viserys' face. Gold still matted his hair, solidified around the silver strands. »"My Dragon Prince, I am sorry."« 

»"W-why?"« 

»"Look at what I have done to you."« He said, feeling more guilt than he had in years. Viserys looked confused, whether it was because he couldn't understand his reasoning, or he simply didn't understand the Dothraki. Drogo didn't speak any common tongue, but he attempted to translate none the less. Viserys let out a soft laugh at his attempt to pronounce the words in Westeros, but appreciated the effort nonetheless. Drogo blinked at how the prince's laugh warmed him

»It-it wasn't just you."« Viserys admitted, surprised by how much he was already telling the Dothraki Khal, but then maybe it would be best if he at least told someone. Dany wouldn't listen, and even if she would, he wouldn't want to burden her with his problems. So, Khal Drogo it was. Even if he had just tried to kill him. 

»"My Khal, Khaleesi is asking for you."« A voice said from outside the tent. Drogo, for whatever reason, was reluctant to leave. Viserys looked down, shaking his head when Drogo went to hand him the dagger back. It was too soon, he'd only try to do something stupid again. The Khal stood to leave but stopped half-way. Placing a hand under Viserys' chin, he gently pulled him in for one last kiss. It felt right, it felt like something he was supposed to do, and was glad he did. Sliding the small dagger into his belt, he exited the tent. 

»"Where have you been?"« Daenerys asked when he walked in. She was stood by the fire, clean from having been bathed, her hair freshly braided. She went to kiss him, but he turned his head away. He couldn't, not now, because that would mean he was willing to push aside what had just happened with Viserys, and he wasn't willing, he would never be. She looked at him, confused and slightly hurt.

»"I am tired Khaleesi, forgive me." He said, lying on the bed. She nodded, seemingly satisfied, and slipped into bed next to him. He sighed and closed his eyes. Tomorrow he would speak with the prince, properly, but now it was late and he was tired. Sleep came to him quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long, but I spent a big portion of the time researching the languages, who spoke what etc. and I tried to get a basic grasp on Dothraki and Andal (or the common tongue) as well as bits of high Valyrian. I also studied the canon quite closely up to about mid season 2, because even though this is an AU, I wanted to make sure I got everyone's personalities down, and I looked at the map closely, as well as the route is intend for them to take and thinking about where this is going, planning, researching and understanding. I wanted to give Viserys a bit of a backstory, no one can be born as much of a dick as he was in the series, so I took some time crafting that too. It all took ages, but I feel like I have a better grasp on the series, and my story, now.
> 
> Thank you all for your wonderful comments! I know this is a rare pairing, but they're one of my favorite pairings and there really isn't enough of them, so thank you! I wasn't sure about this fic to begin with, but I'm warming up to it!
> 
> I'm going to apologise now for the length of this chapter, it's short, and I'm really sorry about that! They should start getting longer though, hopefully! xD
> 
> As usual my dears, enjoy!

Khal Drogo was growing worried. He was unused to being worried, and he could see that his people were picking up on the nervous energy he seemed to be projecting. 

He had good reason to worry, however. It was now nearing midnight, and no one had seen nor heard from Viserys since the night before, the night when Drogo had stopped him from ending everything. So yes, when he asked if anyone had seen the prince, and was met with a round of nonplused noes, even from his Khaleesi, he began to worry. Now, worry didn't come naturally to Khal Drogo, it was why his braids were so long. Undefeated in battle because he didn't worry nor did he he fear. Except now. Now he was terrified. And to make matters worse, he was caught up in planning a hunt for the following day, that had taken all day to plan. He grabbed Ser Mormont's arm on the way out and was met with the same answer. 

»"I saw him go down to the river this morning, but I've not seen him since then, no."« Ser Jorah shrugged, stepping past him and into the tent. Drogo's heart faltered. The river? He could've drowned, and no one would've known. Not quite running, but not quite walking, he made his way toward the river. A forty minute walk at least, but he had no intention of walking it. Once he was away from the eyes of his people, he ran. He ran faster than he'd ever ran before. He made it in twenty-five minutes, his breath coming in short sharp gasps. It was then he saw it, the mess of blond hair that shone in the moonlight. Viserys.

"No." He breathed, dropping to his knees beside the prince. He was glad for the light of the harvest moon that night. He could see enough to make out the blood that covered the prince's pale face, his silver hair matted with a dark crimson, the skin of his lips and fingers were a light blue, whether from under-oxygenation or simply cold he was unsure. Either could bode disastrous for his Zhavvorsa Khalakka. He checked for a pulse. It was faint, but still there. 

He was now faced with a dilemma. He could risk moving the prince, but it would take forty minutes, or even longer, to walk back to their camp, forty minutes too long for Viserys. He could run back, fetch a healer and then come back, but the would be over an hour, and he'd loath to leave Viserys alone for that long. That, plus it would still take them forty minutes to walk back. Either way, he faced a long walk. Viserys was injured, practically dying, and he had no idea what, or who, had caused it. He shouldered Viserys, bag, noting that it seemed ridiculously heavy, before carefully picking him up, one hand under his knees and the other under his back. Viserys let out a small cry of pain against the movement, but otherwise did not stir. Worrying. He would normally have protested vehemently to being treated like he would break.

When he reached the camp almost an hour later, he shouted for a healer. Three came scrambling out of their tents, immediately alert. The faltered slightly at the sight of the blond, and looked at each other. Drogo, now worried and irritated, barked at them to move. Viserys would die if they didn't do something, and do it quickly. When he was content that they would look after him well enough, he left to put the prince's bag in his tent. When it hit the floor, something rolled out. An egg? A dragon egg! Had Viserys found it? It wasn't the Khaleesi's, no, this egg was a deep blue, with greens and purples swirling on its shell. He placed it back in the bag and carefully put it by the fire. Dragons liked heat right? It might do it some good. Sighing, he left. He needed to see if Viserys was okay, he needed to be there when he woke. He also needed to make sure his healers were actually putting effort into saving him. 

BREAKLINE (flashback)

Death, Viserys reasoned, would be better than this. But, he couldn't. His sister, his sweet, sweet sister needed to be looked after. He couldn't leave her, he couldn't. By the gods, he was twelve and she seven, most were barely able to look after themselves at his age, let alone look after another so young. 

They needed food, that was a fact. Begging didn't work, not here. No one gave a damn about that that didn't concern them. Viserys and Daenerys weren't anyone's concern. He'd spent the last of their money to get them on a ship, to bring them here. They had no place to stay, no food, no water. Naught but the clothes on their back and each other. He hoped, that one day, when everything was better, when he had an army and a kingdom, when he did that which his mother had asked of him with her dying breath, Deanerys would look back at this time and appreciate what he had done for her. Not that it was about the thanks, it never was, but he supposed it would've been nice. Her gratitude. 

However much he hated it, he had to resort to stealing. He'd run as fast as his legs would carry him away from the stalls, slipping through the crowds. He'd learnt at an early age that crowded places were better for stealing in, easier to blend in, even with his hair colour. He'd barely managed to get enough for one person before the shopkeeper had seen him. One small roll and a skin of water was all he could manage. 

"Sister?" He called, slipping noiselessly into the small alcove they were hiding in. The statue in it left barely enough room for the two of them but it provided respite from the wind and the rain. He broke the roll in two, giving the biggest part to his sister and putting the other in his bag in case she got hungry during the night.

"Are you not eating brother?" She'd always ask.

"I ate on the way sweet sister, do not worry." He'd reply, and she would readily believe him. Soon, she stopped asking. He knew that he'd have to eat sometime, but she came first, she always came first, and as long as she was happy, he was happy.

As the night drew in and the air grew colder, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. As long as he had his sister, everything would be fine.

BREAKLINE (end of flashback)

Khal Drogo stretched his back. It had been two days and Viserys was yet to wake. The head wound was bad, but not fatal, and he was told that the prince would wake when he was ready.

Two days became three, and three four. He was worried now, increasingly so. Daenerys seemed to be mildly concerned, but otherwise she got on with her day as would be expected. She had not visited her brother once since Drogo had found him. He chalked it up it worry. Perhaps she did not wish to see her brother like this. That must've been it.

Then, on the fifth day, around dusk when a storm wracked the camp, Viserys woke. He was disorientated briefly, the words 'where am I' falling from his mouth like second nature, used to waking up in unfamiliar places. Drogo was at his side in seconds, running a hand through his now clean hair, whispering both comforts and reassurances in Dothraki. He would say he was surprised to hear that his sister had not visited him, but then he wasn't, not really.

»"What happened?"« Drogo asked, desperate to know. In truth, Viserys didn't even know himself.

»"I don't know. I-I can't remember."« He said, his voice shaking as he heard the thunder rage outside. He tried to calm his shaking, but he couldn't. His mother, she had died in a storm, everything had gone wrong in a storm, and it brought horrible memories back to him. His mother's death, him and his sister being forced to live on the streets, what remained of their army being wiped away by the waves. Daenerys Stormborn, she'd never made the connection between the death of their mother and the storm she was named after.

»"What troubles you?"« The Khal asked, concern filling his voice. Viserys briefly thought that he was well spoken, well for a Dothraki anyway. He shook his head, physically clearing his thoughts and dismissing the Khal's worry. 

"Nothing." Viserys sighed, biting the inside of his lip hard enough to draw blood. He wouldn't cry, not again. He'd done enough crying to last him a thousand lifetimes. »"Nothing of your concern."« He translated.

»"You are my concern, Zhavvorsa Khalakka. Please tell me."« Drogo requested, looking into the prince's eyes. He looked a lot like Daenerys, except maybe he was prettier than her, more beautiful. He was definitely more troubled. Daenerys was still young, still naïve, Viserys had grown up, he had to. If what he'd heard was true, Viserys was seven when their guardian had died, forcing them out into the streets, Daenerys was but two, yet her brother had done a good job of shielding her from the harshness of the world, taking the brunt of it himself. 

»"It's nothing."« Viserys insisted, his voice harder this time. Suddenly, Drogo's hand was on his cheek, a calloused thumb running over the smooth skin. Viserys felt his resolve waver, and before he knew it, he was talking. »"M-my mother, she died in a storm. We were thrown out of our home in a storm, my last hope died in a storm."« He said, ignoring the break in his voice. The Khal, shocked into speechlessness, drew the prince up and into his arms. Viserys clung to him as if he were a lifeline and Drogo didn't mind. 

"You will lose nothing tonight." The Khal managed, glad that Jorah had begun to teach him Andal. The common tongue wasn't inherently difficult to understand, but he'd still struggled with it somewhat. It had been frustrating, but the the smile on Viserys' face made it all worthwhile. He pulled back just enough to press a kiss to his prince's lips, hands tangling in his hair. There was something there, in his chest, that Drogo couldn't put his finger on. It was an ache and a joy at the same time, both painful and soothing. He didn't understand it, he didn't even know if he wanted it, but every time he laid eyes on his dragon prince, his heart would soar and his stomach would drop simultaneously. He would be both warm and cold, excited and fearful. It was all incredibly confusing, but as he sat there, Viserys' lips moving against his own, he felt contented, and he knew that there was no place in the world he would rather be. Not with his tribe, not even with his Khaleesi. Viserys was the on,y thing he needed and the only thing he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naw, Drogo has feelings! And poor Viserys, he's had a tough life...
> 
> Drop a comment and tell me what you think! I'm dying to know! 
> 
> Next chapter should be up soon!


End file.
